Death is merely an inconvenient side effect of living
by FallonHolmes
Summary: Molly has one bad date too many and finds herself waking up on the wrong side of the grave. This is a story I started over on AO3, moving it here at a friends request.
1. For the sake of law and order indeed

It shouldn't have surprised her that the last living thought that crossed her mind as she lay dying was of Sherlock Holmes. She'd thought of him a lot in life, it made a kind of poetic sense. She'd have liked to have pictured his enthusiasm over a case, bright and childlike. His thinking pose, finger steepled and face calm. But no, instead she pictured him as she was ever familiar with him, harsh and condescending. "I told you Molly. For the sake of law and order you should have given up dating all together." And with that her heart stopped.

Earlier that night…

Molly was bouncing with excitement. She had a date tonight and she had high hopes for this one. He seemed so sweet. Of course they all seemed sweet, that was her curse. She always found these guys who seemed so great and turned out rotten in the end. It started with Tommy Callow in primary school. Good boy, choir and all that. She had such a fancy for him. Till she found out he liked to boost cars and go for rides in the countryside. It was all downhill from there. Frank the burglar she'd met him at church. Alan the drug dealer, he'd been one of the top students in his med school class. Jackson the embezzler, her mum had introduced her to that one though she denies it now. It was always the same right up to Jim, worst of them all, the consulting criminal. Nice sweet guys who seemed so normal and ended up being rotten at the core.

She sighs heavily trying to shake of the sudden gloom. She refused to think that was her destiny, to be trapped in misery or always alone. This time could be different, would be different. So she let herself get excited, let herself dream and primp and hope. She dressed nicely, she only really wore her worst clothes to work after all due to the blood and viscera and all that. She chose a faded pair of black skinny jeans and layered a light jumper in hot pink over a black tank. A dangly pair of earring, some bangles and a bit of light makeup later and she was ready for her date with Theodore.

He was a bit darker than the kind she usually caught the eye of, tall and rakish and dark haired like some sort of Gothic hero. And if he happened to have bore a bit of a resemblance to a certain consulting detective, well that was just a perk. She'd run into him in her favorite bookstore, and Molly being clumsy Molly she meant literally ran into him. She'd scattered both his books and her own tall stack of mysteries, with just a few romance novels thrown in to make her blush like a schoolgirl when he handed her one while she tried to gather the chaos back into order. He'd smiled so charmingly and said all the right things and she was surprised when the clerk had to tell them they were closing. She'd spent hours talking books with him curled up in the chairs provided to customers. When he'd asked to see her again she'd happily agreed. And so here she was.

It was a wonderful date, if she had stopped to think about it she would have realized it was just a bit too perfect but she never really did think when it came to her heart. He said all the right things, charmed and entertained her and acted a perfect gentleman the entire time. Should have been her first clue it was all going to crash down around her.

Theodore, she wonders now if his name really was Theodore but it really doesn't matter anymore. He'd escorted her home and she'd said goodbye at the door, she was a good girl after all and it was the first date, he'd left and she'd let herself into the flat. She had thought that had been it a lovely end to a great night, the start of what she'd hoped was a bright future.

A hope that crashed and burned when she'd turned from locking up to find him in her living room, smiling darkly. She hadn't even had a chance to squeak in surprise before he was on her, hand over her mouth and teeth at her throat. She'd fought, but it was like a baby bird trying to fight a cat, and eventually she hadn't had the strength anymore. She could feel him draining her dry and her mind wandered as she began to fade.

And so we end up where we started. Thoughts of Sherlock before her heart stops and there was silence. Not the way she'd thought her life would end. But sometimes the end is just the beginning and in the silence fire reigned. And just like like the world came back into sharp focus on a wave of pain. Molly had no sense of where she was anymore, no sense of self or her surroundings. There was just the candied heat that poured down her throat and burned through her veins, purging everything she was and leaving something new in it's place. She writhed and screamed in silence as her humanity was ripped away and replaced with something more. And after what seemed like hours of blazing pain Molly finally came back to herself, huddled and shaking, covered in blood she wasn't sure was all her own. And alone, alone with nothing but hunger, confusion and fear. Scared of herself perhaps most of all.


	2. When you've eliminated the impossible

Molly Hooper had always been a rational human being. Oh she'd done her fair share of fairy tale reading and Disney movie watching, sighing wistfully over the romance and magic of it all, but in the end she always knew where fiction ended and reality began. Knights didn't run around in shining armor or wax poetic, though she sometimes fancied they wore Belstaff coats and waxed acerbic. But most of all Molly Hooper didn't believe in monsters of the inhuman variety, not until she woke up one.

She felt dirty, filthy in ways that had nothing to do with the blood coating her chin and throat. Her mind warred with itself, alternately trying to deny what had happened, what she had seen happen, and trying to process the changes she felt in her own body. The world seemed sharper. It was almost as if the glass through which she viewed it had shattered and she now risked cutting herself on the jagged pieces. Her nose felt assaulted with coppery tang of dried blood and the suddenly too strong aroma of the citrus body lotion she used to help cover up the scent of chemicals and decay that came from working in a morgue. Sounds were louder, traffic and people and that god awful rap music the teenager three floors down liked to listen to merging together to build a dull throb in her already overtaxed skull. She wasn't sure which was worse, hearing all of that or the gut wrenching realization that the one thing she couldn't hear was the beating of her own heart.

It was this that finally sent Molly running for the bathroom to heave up what she was sure was everything she'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours, finally crawling into the shower when she was finished. Even turned to the hottest setting the water wasn't enough to keep her from shivering, huddled as she was at the bottom of her tub. She felt undone and broken, sobs racking her body as she wrapped her arms around her knees and tried to pull herself together. To tell herself it would be okay.

She'd never been one for a lot of monster movies despite what many people thought. Oh the occasional werewolf, elf or alien epic was alright here and there, but Molly had spent far too much time dealing with the dead to find anything believable in the undead. She openly scoffed at tales of zombie apocalypses and vampire hordes, sneered at sappy romances that paired off innocent young women with immortal creatures of the night. It wasn't how death was meant to work. It wasn't the natural order of life. When people died for real they stayed dead. That's the way it was supposed to be. It was a tenant she'd based her life and her work around. Even the science of it had won out over her Catholic school upbringing, replacing the overly idealistic belief of a heaven with the cold logic of death being the final stop. And yet she couldn't deny the knowledge that she was still here, still conscious and thinking. Okay freaking out more than thinking but given that she couldn't find her own pulse and seemed to be breathing more from habit than necessity she figured she had the right.

The water had long since turned ice cold by the time Molly found herself able to pull herself up and strip her sodden clothes off, however as she did her best to scrub her skin raw the scientist in her registered the fact that she felt as unaffected by the chill as she had when it was scalding. If she was able to detach herself emotionally from the whole thing she was sure she'd find it all fascinating. Maybe later, if or hopefully when she manages to come to some grips with her current predicament she could examine the changes to her body's natural state with something other than abject horror. For now her brain couldn't get past the pained realization that some monsters were real, that she was now one of them, that she was now a vampire.

It wasn't until she'd dragged herself out of the shower and dried off, wrapping up in her most comfortable, and admittedly rattiest, pajamas and dressing gown to sit and sort out what to do that everything fell apart again. A hard knock sounded at the door just as the scent of fresh blood hit her nose, sharp and sweet. "Molly! Molly you in there? We got a call from your neighbor. Said there'd been a scuffle and some cryin', wanted to make sure you're alright." It was as Lestrade's voice called out that the hunger hit, doubling her over with a pained cry. "No! No just stay out! I'm fine!" She wasn't fine, she was far from fine. She'd never felt so hungry in her life and she feared what she'd do in this state if Greg came through that door. However it was when she realized the pounding in her ears came from three sets of heartbeats that she truly started to panic, grabbing her coat and purse at the sound of Sherlock's voice. "Oh for god sakes Gilbert of course she isn't alright. Now either break the door down or get out of my way!" She whimpered at that, half out the quickly opened window when she heard John throw his two cents in. "Sherlock calm down, you're not helping. Molly! Molly we're coming in! It's going to be alright!" She could hear her door slam open as her feet hit the street and all she could think was that it was not alright, it was never going to be alright again. Stumbling towards Bart's, the only place in the world she could think to hide at the moment, she tried to block out the world around her for fear of doing the unforgivable and attacking someone. Whether she had an immortal soul or not may be a philosophical debate she wasn't up to currently however she knew that either way her heart wouldn't survive knowing she'd killed some innocent person in this state.


	3. All that remains

Sherlock Holmes did not consider himself an overly emotional man. Though admittedly in recent years he had begun finding himself no longer as agreeable with Mycroft's sentiments on sentiment, his acquirement of John Watson as his best friend had seen to that. While Mrs. Hudson and then Lestrade could be contributed to the original cracks in his armor it had been John's ready acceptance and admiration of him that had ensured that with the right application of pressure he had no armor at all. It was incredibly inconvenient most days.

Sherlock had gone from a solitary creature with a few select acquaintances to a man with more friends than he knew he could be capable of having. Mary Watson had slipped into the empty place beside John in his mind palace with an ease that made it seem as if she had always occupied those rooms, just as it felt as if those same rooms had always had a nursery waiting patiently for the arrival of their future daughter. Lestrade's room now seemed more active, bustling with the sounds of the Yard and emitting the ever present scent of hot coffee and fresh doughnuts. Mrs. Hudson's room was brighter, sounding more of the smooth jazz she favored these days and less of music to pull your clothes off to. Glitter no longer peppered the edge of the door frame though it still smelled just as strongly of tea, cake and her famous "herbal soothers". Even Mycroft's room, regulated to the attic though it was, seemed to have more life to it. And then there was Molly Hooper. The woman who had somehow managed to no longer have a room in favor of moving herself into the entirety of the palace itself and crown herself queen while he hadn't been looking.

He was entirely perplexed as to when the takeover had taken place. His brain could not seem to recall a specific instance. One minute it seemed as if she had inhabited a small office off of his lab, and then a room of her own had been afforded her given all her touching insight and help with saving his life. And then the next thing he knew she had been saving his life again, her room gone and her presence permeating the entirety of his mind palace to the point he could barely go anywhere in it without stumbling upon one of the dozens of facts about her that he hadn't even realized he'd stored.

To say that he was at a loss about what this change could mean would be an understatement. It was a puzzle that he spent entirely too much time contemplating, though as yet it hadn't interrupted his work. He had managed to remain as focused as ever. This didn't lessen the worry over this development however. He was still finding himself a fair bit alarmed over this…takeover. Even The Woman had only been afforded one suite of rooms scented with sin and decadence. And Molly's fiancé, former now thank heavens, hadn't been allowed in at all. There wasn't a single trace of "meat dagger" anywhere to be found and he had realized none had ever been allowed anywhere near HIS pathologist. The implications of this were alarming. Especially considering the dream he'd begun having lately in which he woke up next to Molly, asking her what was going on, only to have her smile and reply that they were: "Having quite a lot of sex."

It was a dream he'd tried to delete, only to find that he was surprisingly unable to. It always came back. And so he was ignoring it, tramping down any feelings it and Doctor Hooper managed to invoke. Which given all the trouble involving Magnussen hadn't proved as difficult as he had secretly feared. He'd been preoccupied with protecting Mary, and in turn John, and hadn't given any thought to her until he'd been faced with never seeing her again. Then he hadn't seen the point in contemplating the puzzle any further. He would have been dead soon after all. And Sherlock Holmes was not the man to dwell on "might have beens".

It wasn't until the plane taking him to his presumed fate had landed and the tape of Moriarty that had been flashed across all of London had been shown him that she'd been promptly brought back to the forefront of his mind. Later he would scoff at John's insistence that he had been frantic to check on Molly first thing and blatantly ignore Mary's knowing smirk over the relief he'd thought he'd hidden over finding her okay other than being shaken by seeing the Consulting Criminal's face again. She'd proven remarkably stoic about the whole thing however, even going so far as to swear off any manner of protection other than the security of Mycroft's men that he had failed to tell her had been watching her for well over two years now and were to be increased immediately. The secret compromise was the only thing that had kept himself from attempting to shake some sense into her.

He was seriously reconsidering the usefulness of said protection however when Lestrade had texted him that he was headed to Molly's to check up on a disturbance her neighbor had reported. He'd heard little more than Molly's name and domestic before he was out the door and in a cab. With little more to do on the drive but fidget, out of anger that Molly had put herself in danger not worry for her safety of course, he'd texted John. If Molly was in any way needing medical attention then John was the only man he trusted to look her over. They had all reached her door at nearly the same time and had been rather alarmed to find her not answering. That alarm had only grown at the sound of her panicked insistence that she was fine. Even Lestrade had failed to be taken in by that weak attempt to get them to leave, allowing Sherlock to shove him out of the way to make quick work of the lock. It was only the knowledge of just how easy that particular lock was to pick due to his familiarity with it that kept him from attempting to use brute force on the surprisingly sturdy slab of wood.

Pouring into the tiny flat two things became immediately obvious to Sherlock. One, the flat was empty. He didn't need Lestrade's quick sweep of the tiny one bedroom to know that. The second observation was far more chilling, in the center of the room where signs of a brief fight and a small dark stain he could tell from experience was dried blood. At the sight his brain kicked into overdrive, examining everything. "She's gone. What the bloody hell?! Why'd she leave if she if she was hurt? Was she taken?" Lestrade's voice was little more than an annoying buzz as he worked his way methodically through the flat, accompanied by the equally annoying drone of John's own. "I don't know, I really don't bloody well know. It didn't sound like there was anyone else still here but that doesn't mean anything. Mary said Molly had mentioned a date tonight. Some bloke she met in a bookshop, one of those Gothic hero, sensitive types." Sherlock could hear John scrub a hand over his face as he looked at Sherlock. "Could it have been one of Moriarty's? Would he play that game again with her?" It was finally more than Sherlock could stand. "SHUT UP! For god sakes quit blathering on and let me go over the scene without you two distracting me!" There were a couple of choked back sounds of rage before finally silence fell.

It was another ten minutes before Sherlock came back to them, a puzzled frown marking his features. "She wasn't taken. She ran, I have no idea what for but she ran. She was assaulted, cut in some manner, hence the blood stain. Obviously it isn't a terribly serious injury, there is less than a pint there and none any other place in the flat barring the sodden, bloody clothes in her shower. She was capable enough to get up and walk on her own. Well enough even to duck out the window when we arrived at the door, the telltale drips of water from her still wet hair can be seen on the sill. One assailant judging by the footprints, he fought with Molly but she was no match against him. No clue yet as to how he got in, the footprints are strictly limited to the area of assault. He attacked her, overpowered her and took her to the floor, then laid her out when she'd lost consciousness. She came to after he was gone, feeling sick at the violation if the signs of throwing up in her toilet are any sign. Then she crawled into the shower to clean herself off. Stupid! Stupid Molly! Why?! Why would you wash yourself knowing you were destroying evidence?! Why run instead of letting us in to help? Why hide? And where? Where did you go Molly? OH! Get out. John go home. Gavin go file a report or whatever it is you do."

He charged out of the flat, ignoring John's call and Lestrade's angry shout about someone named Greg. He knew exactly where Molly was. The same place he himself would go if he didn't feel safe in his own home. Their very home away from home. He hailed a cab, nearly stepping in front of the car in his haste, before jumping in and directing the cabby to get to Bart's as quickly as he legally could.


	4. Must be the truth

There were certain areas of Bart's that were surprisingly easy to get into if one knew the routine. For Sherlock Holmes such knowledge came from his rigorous attention to detail. For Molly Hooper it came from the easy familiarity she had with the hospital that had seen her through the entirety of her career. And while Molly could in no way claim the occasional bouts of moral ambiguity that allowed Sherlock to break into places he shouldn't be she couldn't say in this moment that she was exceptionally torn up over her current unauthorized presence in the hospital's blood and plasma storage.

The hunger clawed deep, like a beast trying to break free of the fragile confines of her body. She felt as if she was burning, drying up from the inside. And in her less lucid moments she fancied herself blowing away on the breeze, little more than dust in the wind. Which could be why several times on her trip here she had found herself humming the Kansas tune. It had proven far less alarming a discovery than the few time she'd pulled herself together enough to realize she was staring at the crowd swirling around her much the way a starving man would view a buffet. She'd ran after that, heedless of her speed or the lack of shoes on her feet, seeking the safety and familiarity of Bart's.

And now here she was, shaking like an addict in need of a fix, staring at the little neatly hanging bags of blood with mixture of horror, guilt and bone deep thirst. She couldn't even believe that she was even contemplating doing this. Her mind recoiled from the thought, guilt at the idea of the other lives that could potentially be saved by what she was now stealing making her flush with shame. It was only the knowledge of how close she'd been from attacking someone on the street that kept her from turning around and leaving with nothing. She swore to herself that she'd post flyers promoting blood donation to make up for everything.

Forging the paperwork to log out two pints of O+, given that it was the best stocked, made her feel little better than a common criminal. She had no idea how she would ever manage to do this long term. She felt terrible, out of control of her own actions and at the mercy of her instincts. She disgusted herself with her behavior and the idea of having to go on like this indefinitely was nearly a terrifying as the idea of not going on at all. She felt so entirely torn by the entire situation she couldn't even control the tears that slid down her cheeks as she found herself a quiet closet to hide in while she…ate.

"Oh god…" The thought of what she was about to do had her gagging even as her mouth watered. It was an odd feeling, to crave something even as she was disgusted by it, one she had never thought she'd ever have to experience. Especially considering that it didn't seem to matter how she felt or what her mind was telling her, as soon as the blood hit her tongue she felt nothing but pleasure. Even the oddly unnatural taste of the sodium citrate used as an anticoagulant didn't lessen the pleased relief she felt as she easily drank down both pints, the hunger easing and allowing her to think more clearly. It was still a number of long moments before she felt pulled together enough however to leave her hiding place. She was grateful her tears had finally dried as she disposed of the empty bags and made her way to the morgue. Her mood may not have improved any but at least now she felt less panicked and unable to think.

There were few things in Sherlock's life that he considered immutable. He was never going to be without his work because people were always going to be trying to kill each other, the laws of physics and Mycroft's love of cake. In all other things he expected change. It was inevitable. It was entire reason science held such a fascination for him, even if he did only pursue the study it in relation to what would make him a better detective. Despite being told by numerous people that he was limiting himself he never felt limited. He felt as if there would always be something new to learn about and denying himself the opportunity would be the only thing that would ever truly limit him. Science didn't deny a possibility until it had been proven time and again to be false and neither did he.

However as he swept into the morgue with far less of his usual grand theatrics, unwilling to startle Molly when he found her, he was at a loss to explain how she still managed to know it was him before he had even gotten the doors closed. "Go away Sherlock. I don't want to talk about it." He could hear her voice but it took him a moment to find her as his eyes adjusted to darkened room. Making his way towards her he frowned at the sight of her laid out on one of the autopsy table, the image leaving him unsettled in a way he wasn't sure he wanted to analyze at the moment, if ever. Discarding his question of how she knew it had been him he looked her over. "Molly. You were attacked." He made it a statement rather than a question, they both knew it was true after all. "And yet you saw fit to destroy evidence and run when help arrived. Explain." He waited for her to speak, expecting some sad tale of fear that had kept her from thinking clearly. He was surprised however when she changed the subject entirely, her words puzzling.

"Did you know I used to come down here and lay just like this when I first chose to be a pathologist? I used to lay here and picture what it might be like to be one of the corpses. Morbid I know, but I wanted to try and imagine what it would be like, how they would feel about it if they were able to. It made me more respectful of the people they used to be. I still wonder sometimes if they appreciate the extra care. I always figured I would when the time came. Now I suppose I'll never get to know." Her voice was quiet, a pained note to it that left him feeling angry at whoever was the cause. Physically unharmed as she was he knew then that her assailant was in for a considerable amount of pain when he found him for the damaged he'd obviously inflicted on her emotionally. She wasn't even making sense and her talk of death sounded almost wistful. This wouldn't do at all.

"Molly what happened? I need you to tell me everything so that we can find your assailant and see him properly incarcerated. We have already lost a great deal of evidence already thanks to your illogical need to cleanse yourself after the incident so we'll have to rely on your brain and the human memory is notoriously shoddy in the…" His remaining words were choked off as she sat up with a speed and grace he had never seen from her before, and sound of protest interrupting him. "NO! You will do no such thing Sherlock Holmes. There will be no catching my assailant do you understand me? You will stay far, far away from this. It's none of your concern understood? There is no case. I. Do. Not. Want. Your. Help."

His eyes widened at the vehement tone, the impassioned words. She sounded near panicked at the thought of him finding her attacker. Scared but not for herself. He looked her over silently, searching for clues as if the answers were waiting in the folds of her kitten print pajamas and faded pink dressing gown. They usually were. They were her favorite set, he could see the marks of careful darning where they'd been damaged, her skill with sewing up a body apparently transplanting to simple clothing repairs. They were well washed, faded from time the same as her dressing gown. Some sort of sentimental value then, likely from her father. She'd never shown herself attached to gifts given to her by former boyfriends. She looked healthy enough despite whatever had happened in her flat. Oddly healthy in fact, the dark circles and ashen skin that had telegraphed her exhaustion from the double shift she'd finished just this morning were gone. Her skin had a healthy glow he hadn't seen on her since John's wedding. There were no signs of assault. No bruises or cuts. And yet he knew there would be none hidden under her clothes, the outfit she had been wearing had shown no signs of rips or tears.

It wasn't until he noticed a small drop of fresh blood on the collar of her dressing gown that she froze, going so still he couldn't even see her chest move. "Don't Sherlock…please just don't." Her whispered plea was wasted on him however as his fingers touched the small spot. "Where did this come from Molly? What did he do to you?" It wasn't until he touched her cheek and felt the somewhat too cool temperature of her skin that he became truly alarmed. Fearing that she was perhaps suffering from shock he pressed his finger to the pulse at her neck with practiced ease as she let loose a defeated sigh. He too seemed to stop moving as his mind finally registered that he felt nothing, a quick check of his finger placement showed that he had indeed placed them properly. There was merely no pulse to be found. His eyes were wide as they found hers and she smiled slightly, the sadness in those big brown eyes of hers an unspoken confirmation that he wasn't hallucinating. "He killed me Sherlock. He killed me and didn't let me die. Not truly."


	5. It's the end of the world as we know it

Molly Hooper had no pulse. Molly Hooper had no pulse. Molly Hooper had no pulse, and yet she continued to stare up at him with large sable eyes glistening with tears. She stood eerily still, as if waiting for an explosion. He didn't have the words yet to tell her that it was more of an implosion as his mind kicked into overdrive. Once more his mind dwelled on her lack of pulse but he shoved the thought aside, he did so hate repeating himself after all. The evidence was at the same time overwhelming and yet extremely contradictory. Molly Hooper was dead. No pulse. Cool skin, though nowhere near corpselike, more as if she had no circulation to her entire body. Perhaps she didn't, something to study later the most scientific part of whispered before he frowned and shoved that thought away as well. He noticed as he watched her still form that her breathing was sporadic at best, as if the need for it was gone but the comfort of it still had her pulling in the occasional lung full of air.

And yet for all the clear, logical evidence that said Molly Hooper should be laid out on her own autopsy table awaiting a post mortem, a thought that caused a twist in his gut that he refused to analyze the meaning of, she was still very much an ambulatory human being showing all the signs of mental cognizance that she had before her apparent break from reliance on oxygen. She showed every sign of being the exact same woman she was before. Just dead. The odd thought crossed his mind that if anyone was silly and forgetful enough to forget how to act dead when they died it would of course be Molly Hooper.

The juxtaposition of these facts left a dull throb in his mind as the whole system seemed to grind to a halt, unable to find any scientific reason that would explain how a woman, his pathologist no less, could be both alive and dead at the same time. It was as this shut down occurred that he became aware of Molly's soft voice calling his name, her tone worried as she snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Sherlock? Sherlock say something. Oh dear god I broke him. Mycroft's going to kill me." Sherlock blinked, staring down at her. "Molly I doubt very highly that as you are apparently now already dead my brother would indeed be able to kill you. Now do be quiet and tell me everything that happened and how you came to be in this current…" He broke off, gesturing to her personage. "State."

Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to drag her out of her melancholy and straight into irritation Molly thought with a wry twist of her lips as she sighed heavily, settling more comfortably into her seat. Not easy when said seat was a hard steel autopsy table. She didn't bother to acknowledge the contradiction of his order, and it had been an order in true Holmes fashion, knowing that would only earn her a scolding about avoiding the subject and to not play stupid. "Alright then, from the beginning then." She smiled sadly as she launched into the tale of meeting Theodore and the subsequent date, leaving no detail untouched as everything poured out. Despite her earlier fear over telling anyone it felt good to lay it out for Sherlock. If anyone could be trusted with such an impossible story it was him.

"I tried to fight him off when he bit me but it was like hitting a brick wall, it didn't make a bloody bit of difference. And then I got so weak from the blood loss I couldn't even fight him anymore." She could hear the waver in her own voice as tears threatened again but she was powerless to stop it and so she just kept going. "I blacked out after that. When I came to it was to nothing but pain. I felt like my blood was boiling in my veins. I couldn't even scream properly." The tears were finally falling now as she tried to suck them back with little sniffles. "I just laid there and writhed in pain until it was over. After that I felt so sick and so dirty that I wasn't even thinking about evidence when I crawled into the shower after throwing up. I just…I just couldn't believe it Sherlock. It's all so impossible and yet apparently not because here I am. Vampires are not supposed to exist but still I was attacked by one. Turned by one. God Sherlock I just drank two pints that I stole from the cold storage! Stole! Me! Molly Hooper! I haven't nicked so much as a pack of gum since I was seventeen!"

She could hear her voice rise with every word the panic setting back in again as she went over it all once more in her head. Sherlock had yet to speak but she had heard his pulse quicken at the mention of her pain and he had walked away when her tears started. He was back now though, apparently having found a box of tissues and offering them to her awkwardly. She took several as she tried to stop the flow of tears, grateful that he hadn't snapped at her for not being able to pull herself together and merely state the facts. "It was the most horrible, awful thing I've ever done and I wanted to puke but it still tasted so good. And I'm glad I did because as soon as you all arrived and I smelled you I felt so hungry, I was so afraid of hurting one of you that I just ran. I didn't want you to see me like this, any of you. I still don't."

There was a long bit of silence before Sherlock spoke and she cringed, worried about what he would say. "So definitely vampire then. Interesting. I would imagine it could have been far worse. John had a movie on just last week with zombies and as far as not quite dead dead things go that seems by far the worst. Of course that could have been ruled out immediately, you seem far too mentally cognizant for the moaning cretins I saw shambling about. Bit more Anderson's area I'd say. I imagine I'll have to do a fair bit of research, the undead were never really anything I found interesting even as a child. And lab tests will likely prove far more revealing than any of that pop culture nonsense that seems to be rotting the brains of idiot teenagers and lonely housewives with neck fetishes and far too much time on their hands." He clapped his hands together, pressing them to his lips as he watched her with something akin to fascination.

Meanwhile Molly's mouth had dropped open as she stared at him in shock. She really should have known not to expect a traditional reaction from Sherlock Holmes but still, his calm acceptance of the situation stunned her into silence. She couldn't quite understand how he could simply accept her current predicament so easily and already be talking of experiments to perform on her. Not that she was particularly happy about that last bit. Sure she had questions of her own that lab tests would help answer but she wasn't a bloody science experiment. It didn't help that the hopelessly infatuated with Sherlock section of her brain was quick to torture her by pointing out that he had rarely looked at her with as much interest as he did now. Give the man a puzzle and he was happy as clam, and Molly was apparently now the puzzle.

"Oh don't give me that sour look Molly, of course I want to do experiments. It's in your best interest to explore how much fallacy may be in all those myths and legends that neither of us ever gave a fig about. Your very survival may depend on it." The look he gave her seemed to say how obvious that should have been and how silly she was to even bristle at the idea before she could even say a word. "Now! First things first we'll have to get some phlebotomy equipment. You simply cannot go about stealing from cold storage every time you're feeling a bit peckish. You said you've had two pints already and you seem fine for now, we'll monitor that and make a time table. In the meantime I should be able to get you a bit of back stock between myself and perhaps a few of the homeless network not currently on any narcotics. Wiggins is clean and he seemed to take a shine to you, should be easy enough to secure his compliance for a bit of coin."

All this was said as he moved about the morgue, gathering up Molly's purse and coat while she tried to pull herself together enough to at least stop gawking at him like a caught fish. Thankfully he didn't seem to notice as he continued to bustle about. "Obviously you'll have to stay with me a few days while we move your things but it should be simple enough to terminate your lease and transfer the contents of your frankly appallingly small flat to 221C. As a basement flat it will be a far simpler matter to weather proof it from the sun should that particular bit of lore hold true. Not to mention the convenience of you being nearby to better monitor your condition." He held out her coat without looking at her, already busy texting away on his phone. She watched him in awe for a long moment before he finally realized she hadn't taken it. Looking up at her he huffed. "Do hurry Molly. I'd like to get you settled before Scotland Yard makes a complete and total botch of the forensics gathering thereby destroying any chance I have of learning what I can about your attacker. Take your…ompfh!"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as Molly launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she hugged him tight. All that could be heard for a long moment was her sniffles before she looked up at him and smiled through her tears. "Thank you Sherlock. For not rejecting or reviling me. For making me feel like I can still be relatively normal. For just being you." She was grateful that her eyesight seemed sharper, otherwise she may have missed the pinking of his ears before he gently unwound her arms from his torso and set her away. "Yes well…you're obviously still very much Molly Hooper. Just a bit...extra now I suppose. Stronger apparently too. We'll have to test it of course but that grip seemed far too tight for a woman of your delicate musculature. But all in all still wholly the same. You saved my life twice now Molly, least I can do is return the favor. Now do put your coat on Molly, we should be going and I'd rather not be seen with you flashing about your kitten pajamas."

She nodded, slipping on her coat and feeling better than she had since this whole mess started. The fear and anxiety were still very real and sitting like a rock in her gut but she wasn't alone now. For all that could and couldn't be said about Sherlock she was infinitely grateful to have him by her side in this. He was an unorthodox hero, but right now he was hers and she wouldn't have traded him for all the white knights of legend. That didn't stop her from frowning in concern as she recalled what he had said about needing go to the Yard however and she put a hand on his arm to stop him as he yanked open the door. "Sherlock wait! You can't seriously still think you're going to run off and go catch Theodore can you? He's a vampire Sherlock. Even if you did manage to find him I doubt any prison could hold him. And I don't even want to think about what he could do to you. Let it be Sherlock. Don't go after this one. It's not worth the mystery." Molly watched Sherlock scowl, looking affronted at her plea. "Molly Hooper the fact remains that this…vampire attacked you, killed you, and turned you into his kind against your will. The violation of your person can not stand unpunished. The mystery may not be worth the risk Molly, but you most certainly are." She gaped again as he spoke matter-of-factually before sweeping from the morgue towards the exit.


	6. How do you say I love you without words?

Molly had never had a more uncomfortable cab ride in her life. The hunger that had plagued her before she fled to Bart's had thankfully subsided but with her clarity of mind came the ability to process the changes her body had gone through. Everything felt sharper, almost painfully so as her mind tried to process the rush of enhanced information from her body. The world was a sudden cacophony of sounds, sights, and smells. Even her sense of touch seemed to have been altered, the wash softened clothing under her fingers no longer feeling as soft as she was sure it had been just recently. She wondered vaguely if this was akin to what Sherlock went through, this flood of information at every turn. If so she no longer envied his skills as much as she once had, the information overload was nearly nauseating.

Speaking of Sherlock, he was still there, staring at her intently from across the stretch of seat between them. Looking all the world as if he could unravel the very mystery of her condition if he only focused long enough. She nearly wished he could. Perhaps then he'd know a way to change it all back to the way it was. She hadn't asked for this, didn't want this. All the time spent wishing she was something more was washed away in a wave of longing for what she had been. Even logically knowing that there was no cure for a non-beating heart didn't keep her from wishing there was a way to go back to being plain old Molly Hooper, even if just in death. Of all the things she had ever wanted to be, a monster was never one of them.

She thought back to every idiotically cheesy vampire movie she'd ever seen and shuddered, picturing the way the female vampires had been portrayed. Even if she was to suddenly upturn her entire wardrobe for something new; low cut, overtly sexy, likely leather clothing wasn't anything she was interested in owning. Her nose wrinkled at the idea of either her clothes or her personality changing that drastically. It was an unpleasant thought. She wasn't a predator, bloody hell she couldn't even picture herself seducing a man and killing him merely for her own survival without her stomach pitching dangerously close to making her throw up. She curled in on herself to prevent just that, doing her best not to break into hysterics in front of Sherlock. The last thing she wanted right now was to feel more pathetic than she already did.

Sherlock indeed stared at Molly as if he could unravel the entire mystery of what had happened to her if he just focused hard enough. He cataloged every movement and sound she made, and every breath she didn't, storing it all away to work through in greater detail at a later date. She was definitely different, obvious lack of pulse notwithstanding. She seemed more in tune with everything around, reacting to the constant stream of stimuli London offered visibly with small twitches and winces at loud noises or lights. He was curious what this meant in regards to potential changes to her five senses, pondering if in fact which of her senses might have changed, they'd have to devise experiments that would introduce responses to each sense to gauge any approximate changes may have occurred and to what severity. His mind whirled at the thought of the potential experiments and test that would need to be done to better understand what Molly had become. The potential changes to her system could well prove nearly infinite.

A vampire. The very name of it made him have to fight back a scoff of disbelief despite the proof across the seat from him, staring back with worried eyes. He didn't like seeing the worry there, buried in the depths of those large eyes whose color always reminded him of the homemade hot chocolate his mother would make every Christmas. He wanted to reassure her, though he knew he was woefully ill equipped to offer comfort to anyone. That was typically left to Mrs. Hudson or John, both infinitely more experienced in such an area. Still, neither were there currently and he couldn't shake the compulsion to make an attempt on his own. "I'm sure this is all more than unsettling Molly, however you shouldn't allow yourself any undue worry. We will approach this as we would any unknown medical condition, and after suitable testing I'm sure we will be able to comprise a way for you to lead as relatively a normal life as you would have otherwise. You may well in fact find this particular condition more to your liking." He flashed her a smile he hoped was reassuring, though he wondered as to the success of it as he watched her face fall. Perhaps a bit not good after all. Damn!

"I don't want to find this to my liking Sherlock. I was okay with who I was, maybe not happy but okay. This? This is a nightmare. You don't hear about a lot of friendly vampires Sherlock. I'd be happier if it could just be cured." The sadness in her tone seemed to sink a lead weight in his gut. She sounded so resigned, so defeated. He pondered for a moment the possibility of finding a cure and realized quickly that a cure for vampirism would not bring back her pulse or restart her heart. He knew Molly was far more intelligent than he gave anyone else credit for, knew that she would know this as well if she had thought of it, and that knowledge caused a sharp spike of panic to rip through him. Leaning forward he took her face in his hands, registering the chill of her skin but dismissing it to be analyzed at a later time. He looked at her intently, his expression stern with a touch of that same panic showing in his eyes. "Listen to me Molly, listen to me right now because this is important. Your life, however you may need to live it, is important. It means something, to your friends...to me. Never wish for the end of it. No matter what your new condition brings in the future we will face it together. You are not alone Molly Hooper. We will get through this, do you understand me?"

Molly stared wide eyed at the man now clutching her face as if letting go would mean losing her, surprised by the intensity in Sherlock's voice. She'd known she mattered, he'd told her such several times since that first one, there in the darkened pathology lab in what seemed like so long ago. They'd seemed to grow closer, even despite her slapping him silly when he'd fallen back into drugs. She'd never apologized for that, and he'd been smart enough to never ask her to despite apologizing for his callous attitude towards her broken engagement. She'd even helped on a few more cases with him, when John had proved unavailable. She'd grown confident enough in their friendship with him to believe that he himself would even openly admit to counting her as a friend, much as he always loathed the word.

But this was different. This was a sudden rush of emotion that brought a heated blush to her skin despite her potentially non-functioning circulatory system. All she could do was nod mutely, her mouth half open to say...well she really didn't know what to say. With everything that had happened this evening this felt like one more ledge to tumble off of, and as much as she hoped this one would prove a softer fall, history still whispered in her mind that it likely would ended up the hardest fall she'd ever taken yet. She wasn't sure if she was grateful or frustrated when the moment was shattered by the cabby knocking on the Plexiglas that separated them, causing the two to pull apart and blink at the driver in question as if broken from a spell. "Alright you lovebirds, much as I don't mind running up the tab just sitting here, I got me own loved ones to get home to. You getting out here or what?" She bit her lip, feeling embarrassed and a bit sheepish as Sherlock glared at the man, grumbling something she couldn't hear as he paid the driver. She followed after him as he swept out of the cab, the both of them making their way up to 221B in a now awkward silence.


	7. Addicted to a certain kind of sadness

It was nearly an hour later when Sherlock made his way up the stairs from 221C to 221B, his mind jumbled with a thousand different thoughts and questions, though despite this he couldn't keep it from lingering on what almost had happened in the cab before they had been interrupted. It had been a mistake on his part, a momentary lapse in judgment that left him feeling the worst sort of ass. Despite only recently becoming acquainted with the depth of his potential feelings for Molly, he'd never been a stranger to how she felt about him. For him to have nearly made a move on her now, on the eve of her being violated in a literally life changing manner had his conscience taking him to task in for once twin voices, voices that sounded suspiciously like John and Mycroft respectively. If Mycroft was suddenly lending his voice to his conscience he knew he was doomed. He would need to be more careful, Molly was in a fragile state, faced with enormous changes to both her person and her life. The last thing she needed at the moment was him stepping in and declaring feelings he had little knowledge of how to deal with and simply adding more weight to the already taxing load of stress she now carried. He'd suffer on in silence before he did that to her.

All because someone...this Theodore, thought she was easy prey. The very idea made his fist clench, his blood boiling in a rage that had him fighting the urge to tear apart everything in his path. Mrs. Hudson would never forgive him. No, he would approach this calmly, rationally. And then when he was sure he knew all he needed to in order to find this Theodore he would tear the unbeating heart from the bastard's chest and feed it to him for what he had done to his pathologist. To his Molly. She was a rare pure soul, resoundingly caring and always quick to help how she could. To think that this vampire, whomever he was, had nearly taken that from the world, from him, only assured that there would be no mercy for him when Sherlock finally found him. He was never more deadly determined than when the people he cared about were at risk, and now was certainly no exception.

His steps slowed as he entered his own flat and realized he wasn't alone. Scowling as he came around the corner into the living room , recognizing his intruder. Hanging up his coat and dropping himself onto his couch he promptly turned his back on his unwelcome guest. "Go away Mycroft! Don't you have some international scandal to quell somewhere? If not then go play war. I've neither the desire nor the interest to pay any attention to you." He smirked to himself, pleased with his casual dismissal of his annoying older brother. "Really brother mine? Not even when my visit concerns Miss Hooper and her new...condition?" Sherlock sat up, whirling to face off against his brother, glaring darkly. "What do you know Mycroft? I want to hear it all. Now! And if you had anything to do with this so help me I'll..." "You will what Sherlock?" Mycroft stared at him unflinching, as stone-faced as he always was. "We both know I had nothing to do with Miss Hooper's change. I have however come to deal with it. Cleaning up your messes as usual little brother."

Sherlock's jaw was clenched so hard he could do little more than hiss at his brother. "And just what do you mean by dealing with DOCTOR Hooper Mycroft? Because if you think I'll let you so much as lay a hand on her you are sorely mistaken." By now Sherlock had slid to the edge of the couch, fully prepared to launch himself at Mycroft should he say one wrong word. "Come now Sherlock, you've no doubt by now found out what Mi...Dr. Hooper has become. You may not have known of such creatures before this but I have unfortunately far too much experience with this particular kind of problem. She's no longer your pathologist Sherlock, she's a predator. Ruled only by her need to stay fed. It takes years, sometimes decades for a newborn vampire to develop the self control not to attack the first person with a pulse that crosses their path when the hunger strikes them. You have no knowledge of the danger you're courting keeping her here, for you, for Mrs. Hudson. Even the Watson's."

He could picture himself punching his brother square in the face with startling clarity. How dare he imply such horrible things about Molly! He didn't care what may or may not be true about vampires, Mycroft had a file on everyone he associated with, he would know that Molly had never done anything but good her entire life. He couldn't picture that behavior changing due to a mere dependency on blood! His eyes still promised violence as he slid back in his eat deliberately, smirking darkly. "Ignorance doesn't look at all becoming on you Mykey! If you knew as much as you claimed about Molly's change you'd know that she had innumerable opportunities to quench her so called thirst on any random passerby as she made her way to Bart's, not to mention the three easy prey that stormed into her flat right after said change. If she was truly the monster you claim she is then both John, Lestrade, and myself would have ended up her first meal hours ago. Instead she had the presence of mind and self control to make her way to the blood bank at Bart's and get herself a meal that wasn't still moving about. So tell me brother dear, how could she do that if she's supposedly as mindless as you say?" Sherlock looked triumphant at Mycroft's puzzled expression.

"Because Molly Hooper has a pure heart." Both men started at the feminine voice that sounded at the door, their heads turning simultaneously to gawk at their newest intruder. Mary Watson stared at both men calmly, baby Emma perched carefully on her hip while John stared at his wife with much the confused look as everyone else. "Well you all heard me. She won't be affected by some of the things most newborn vampires usually are. She's a pure heart. Believe me when I say it's a rare occurrence. It also puts her in a very great deal of danger."


	8. Never underestimate a good woman

Mary took the long beat of dead silence to enjoy the triplicate of confused stares directed her way. Sherlock may claim that such an expression was common on John, but no one would ever claim the same for him or Mycroft, She savored the small victory as she came into the room, sitting on the edge of the couch as she prepared to help Sherlock wage war on Molly's behalf. "Oh quit with all those looks, everything you all now know about me and you're still surprised I know about all the things that go bump in the night? Shame on you Sherlock Holmes." She flashes him an impish smile before turning a stern look on his brother. "And double the shame on you Mycroft Holmes. If you were half as knowledgeable as you're claiming you are to your brother you would have recognized what Molly was as soon as you got wind of what happened."

For what it was worth Mycroft's expression stayed the same save for a tightening in his jaw. "Yes well, considering my report was highlighted with the discovery of Doctor Hooper's security detail having been found dead in their vehicles I was more inclined to be concerned about the threat now facing my dear brother rather than myths and legends spread about by what should themselves be myths and legends." The look he gave her dared her to fight him on the point, a challenge Mary was only too happy to take up. "Be that as it may, you rushed in here jumping to conclusions, serving only to make sure that Sherlock was going to be that much unlikelier to listen to any actual wisdom you may have." The narrowing of his eyes at her was all the confirmation she needed to know that she had made her point.

John was the one to interrupt this time. "Wait a minute, just wait...hold on...so all that nonsense you were you spouting on about in the cab over here, you're saying it's true then? That Molly's now some kind of...vampire?" He laughed harshly, a broken, disbelieving sound. "Impossible. Even if they did exist you're all trying to say Molly is one of them, sweet, mild tempered Molly? Impossible!" The look he gave the room dared them to admit to the joke, bad though it was. He grew still when no one did, alarmed by the look of sympathy in Mary's eyes.

"I know it's a lot to come to terms with darling but it's true, vampires, among other creatures, are indeed real, and it appears our Molly has become one. But she's no danger to any one of us, in fact if anyone is in any kind of danger it's her. Pure hearted vampires are a rare breed, and highly sought after for the gifts they inherently have. Whomever turned her is going to want her back when he realizes what he's created. If anyone needs protection now it will be her." John sat heavily in his chair as her words sunk in, rearranging the very way he viewed the world and leaving him shaken.

"Enough!" Sherlock surged to his feet, wincing at the cry of surprise his outburst startled from Emma, settling a hand on her head momentarily to comfort her. "Enough. Mycroft, if you say another word against Molly I will physically remove you not just from this flat but the building itself I swear it. In fact, unless you have anything useful to contribute you can just leave now and save me the trouble." Mycroft scowled at his brother but didn't budge, not that it mattered, Sherlock had bigger concerns to address as he turned to Mary. "What do you mean danger? I need to know what kind of threat this creature will pose to Molly. She's already suffered more than enough at his hands, I won't let anything else hurt my Mol...my pathologist...Dr. Hooper!" His ears pinked at his verbal slip, knowing the present company was the last group to let such a slip go unnoticed. In fact the damage was already done if the knowing twinkle in Mary's eye to accompany her grin was anything to go by. "Oh don't start! We have more important issues at hand Mary Watson. Do focus!"

Mary Watson smothered her resulting laugh behind her hand, recognizing that now indeed was not the time to tease Sherlock on his slowly dawning feelings for Molly. About time really, she was beginning to despair the man would never wake up and realize how perfect the petite pathologist was for him. The calm to his storm. No, now was the time to make sure that they both had a long enough life for them to both finally be ready to commit to each other. "Alright Sherlock, settle down. I promise to share any knowledge I have about this with you and Molly both. Speaking of, seeing as how she's the topic in question, Molly should really be here for all this. Any information I have she has more of a right to than any of you lot. Is she still downstairs?" "No. I'm here."

Molly stepped into the room, eyes downcast, unable to look any of them in the eye given what she'd already heard. It seemed the two floors between 221C and 221B were little match for her newly sharpened hearing. Yet another aspect of her new condition she'd have to learn to adjust to, among many other unpleasant realities. Like the fact that Mycroft Holmes, British Government, be all and end all of dealings under crown and country thought she was a blood thirsty monster with the potential to kill anyone who came into contact with her. Mary's defense, though grateful she was for it, did little to quell the fears his words had instilled in her. Fears she herself had been wrestling with since the moment she'd woken up hungry, salivating over the scent of her friends. Mary seemed to hold no stock in it but Molly knew that if there were few things Sherlock was wrong about there were even less that Mycroft Holmes wrong. What is this wasn't one of them? It was a thought that left her wanting to bolt out the door, as far away from the people she cared about, the people she could hurt, as possible.

It was Mary that kept her from doing so, the simple acceptance and support she could see on her face and lack of alarm in her scent at the sight of her doing more to calm her down than even Sherlock, the man who had at this point kept her from falling completely apart. She was floored, struck by the generosity of the people she'd come to call friends, Mycroft excluded. She would never have expected it from them, always seeing them as more Sherlock's friends than hers, despite their close acquaintance. It brought tears to her eyes as Mary stood, coming over to embrace her, little Emma cooing happily at the sight of her godmother.

"Hush now, none of that Molly dear. It's all a bit of a mess right now I know, but we'll get it sorted. Heavens knows I couldn't possibly let anything happen to Emma's favorite aunty, she'd be devastated. Wouldn't you sweetheart?" The baby cooed louder, lifting her arms to Molly and bringing forth a fresh wave of tears when Mary made to hand the small girl over to her without a trace of worry. It was the small strangled sound of protest from John that kept her from taking the child, settling instead for pressing a kiss to her forehead while Mary and Sherlock both glared daggers at the man in question. For what it was worth he did have the decency to look a bit guilty, if resolved, leaving Molly wanting to diffuse a potential argument. It wasn't as if she could blame him for his concern after all.

"Anyway, you said you had information to share Mary, please do." She smiled wanly as she made her way to the windows, leaning against the frame as she faced the room and any revelations to come.


End file.
